“Maybe he’ll change his mind,” I say.
“Ten never changes his mind. Dad says he’s as stubborn as a mule.”
I smirk. I’m about to ask her if she wants me to talk to him, but why would anything I tell him change his mind? Besides, I’d prefer it if he left. It would make everything easier.
I turn to look at Nev. Her eyelashes palpitate against her cheeks, and her nostrils pulse with measured breaths. Her hair’s swept off her face,and for a moment, she looks so much like Mona that it disconcerts me. It’s almost like I’m sleeping beside my idol, which is real odd. As much as I want to spend time with Mona, I definitely never envisioned us sharing a bed.
Not that I’d ever envisioned myself sharing a bed with her daughter.
Or wanting to kiss her son.
27
The Shade of Water
Nev wakes up early. Since I’m a light sleeper, the slight rustling pulls me from my dream. I was starring in a talent show in a place that was supposed to be my school but looked a lot like an aviary, and all these bluebirds were flocking around me, creating the melody of a song I desperately try to recall but can’t.
I yawn, then turn toward Nev. “I just had the weirdest—” I sit up so fast my autographed poster of Mona Stone swims in and out of focus. “Whoa.Maybe it’s a sign.”
“What is?” Nev is studying my framed poster. Her upper lip isn’t hiked up in disgust, but her eyes, which peek through her tangled hair, glitter quietly.
I tell her about my dream, that the birds were bluebirds. She’s still frowning, so I say, “As in the Bluebird Café.”
“The place where Mom got her start?”
It hits me that she doesn’t refer to her as Mona.
She scoots up in bed, then smooths out a wrinkle in the duvet cover. “Have you ever sung there?”
“Me? No way. But Lynn’s a regular.”
Last month, Steffi, Mom, and I went to hear Lynn play. She tried to get me to sing with her, but I froze. I’m well aware that someday, if I want to be a real vocal artist, I’ll have to actually sing in front of anaudience. I’m hoping the new song I wrote will be the mallet that shatters my stage fright.
I swing my feet off the bed and head to the bathroom, while Nev picks at a piece of goose down sticking out of the comforter. The pale sunlight filtering through the drawn curtains limns the white feather.
I pause next to her. “Speaking of singing, I meant what I said at the mall… you have an incredible voice.”
She twists up her lips. “Thank you.”
“Is that what you want to do? Sing professionally like your mom?”
Her gaze settles on Mona’s poster again. “Dad would never let me. And Ten would never talk to me again.”
“Mom hates my choice of career, but it’s my dream,” I say, before going into the bathroom, leaving Nev to contemplate her mother in peace.
When I come back out, Nev’s gone. I pull on a pair of ripped denim shorts and a white tank top, then head down to the kitchen. In spite of our late-night snack, I’m ravenous and dig up an energy bar in the pantry. After guzzling a tall glass of water, I plod toward the living room and sit at the piano. The keys are cool and stiff like my fingers, which I stretch before trying—unsuccessfully—to re-create the song from my dream. I end up playing the one I’m submitting to Mona’s contest. I don’t sing, though, just work on the melody. I add a little bridge right before the chorus, then hum my lyrics to see if the bridge adds anything.
“That’s really pretty.”
My fingers stumble, then disengage from the keys. I turn around and find Nev sitting on the couch, hands folded in her lap. She’s wearing gray leggings and a black T-shirt, which tents over her bony upper body.
“Thanks. Do you play the piano?”
She shakes her head.
“The guitar?”
“No.”
